


Summer by the Bay

by DuchessElvire



Category: Love & Friendship (2016), Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Edwardian, Edwardian Period, F/M, Maybe - Freeform, Narragansett Bay, Newport Mansions, Newport Rhode Island, Romance, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2018-10-05
Packaged: 2019-07-25 17:58:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16202702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DuchessElvire/pseuds/DuchessElvire
Summary: Frederica Vernon is taken by her mother from New York to spend the summer with her estranged aunt and uncle in Newport. Thrust into Edwardian summer society, she finds herself at the center of the machinations of several opposing forces.





	1. Frederica

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set at the Newport mansions which were used as summer "cottages" by the rich of the northeast. Churchill is based on Marble House, former home of William Vanderbilt. We're also pulling on characters from Jane Austen's other works to fill out the society set of Newport.

[Photo Set](https://moodboardduchess.tumblr.com/post/178768928101/summer-by-the-bay-miss-frederica-vernon)

Summer, 1903

“Now, Frederica, I’m sure you’re upset with me, but you must know I do this for your own good.” Susan Vernon (a beautiful, dark haired woman of a certain age) had been going on in much this way since she had abruptly appeared at Miss Summer’s School and informed Federica (her daughter, who had inherited all of her looks and none of her attitude) that they would be spending the summer in Newport. And they were leaving immediately.

The actual reason for this was not made clear to Frederica, although all manner of excuses had been given. Her mother was in peak form where obfuscation was concerned giving reasons from the poor air in New York, which she couldn’t stop praising mere months before, to a scandal at the school, which Frederica, though a student, had heard nothing about. All the while Mrs. Cross (her mother’s companion, a gentlewoman in straightened circumstances) agreed at appropriate intervals thus relieving Frederica of the burden of saying anything at all. As such, she had truly stopped listening somewhere in Connecticut and had focused all of her attention on the dismal countryside as they jounced about in the stuffy train car toward the summer home of her aunt and uncle.

An uncle she could not remember, and an aunt she had never met due to her mother’s violent opposition to the match. This, Frederica had divined, was because she wanted Frederica to be the only blood descendant of the Vernon line, and Charles marrying anyone would have been a great blow to her machinations. Catherine, however, was considered perfectly lovely and well bred by everyone Frederica had ever heard speak of her. Her family, the DeCourcys, were likewise considered excellent people who had made their fortune in the railways. 

“I will, of course, be attaching myself to the children,” Susan intimated to Mrs. Cross in a truly unnecessarily conspiratorial tone. “I think young Frederic will be my particular project.” 

Frederica barely halted a long suffering sigh from escaping her. Although she was not fond of school, she was fond of time away from her mother. It didn’t seem to matter so much that Susan Vernon was her mother when she was in Manhattan. Everyone knew, of course, but there was always another scandal, another engagement, and another party to keep them occupied. In Newport it mattered. At the very least, that was how her mother behaved, but Susan Vernon always behaved as if she were the most important person in the world.

Another hour passedly just as slowly as all the rest, quite like time was stagnating in a jar of molasses, before the whistle blew, announcing their arrival in Rhode Island. Upon disembarking from the train in Providence, they were met by a pair of Charles Vernon’s footmen who helped them into a fine carriage waiting at the station. 

Once settled, Susan began again her self congratulatory prattle. “In my letter I explained quite clearly to my brother the inappropriate nature of three ladies hiring a carriage in the city and I am glad to see he listened to me.”

“Yes, quite inappropriate,” Mrs. Cross parrotted from her perch. 

“If it were anyone but family we should be quite indebted to them,” Susan stated, catching Frederica’s attention. “Regardless, I expect you to be all politeness to your aunt and uncle. None of your usual sullen silences.”

“Yes, Mother.” 

“You will be cordial. And of course we must set about the business of finding you a fiance.”

She has been saying as much for the past year and nothing had come of it yet. “Yes, Mother.”

“It’s a shame Charles Bingley had no brothers. And that the young hussy from Virginia snatched him up. Perhaps…” 

Knowing her mother no longer required her response and with the barest prompting from Mrs. Cross would go on ad infinitum, Frederica settled further into the corner of the carriage, wishing for all the world that her books of poetry were not currently strapped to the roof, locked inside of a steamer trunk.

 

The carriage ride passed just as joylessly as the train ride, if not more so for there were no other sounds to drown out Susan Vernon’s piercing voice. Not even the sight of the blue water of the Narragansett Bay brought comfort. They rattled down the gravel drive of Churchill and the knot that had formed in Frederica’s stomach when the train left New York proved that it was not a knot at all. It was an adder, whipping and coiling restlessly at their approach. The carriage rolled to a halt at the entrance, and Susan was the first out, scarcely waiting for the footman as she flew up the stairs. 

Frederica left its safety last, hoping that perhaps it was merely a nightmare and she would awaken at any moment in her bed at the boarding school. It was not to be. She stepped delicately from the carriage, her gaze focused on her feet, not daring to turn her face to the great marble columns that threatened to close in like prison bars. 

“Charles! It’s been too long.” As she climbed the steps, she saw her mother embrace the older gentleman. Beside him stood a lovely lady, younger than Frederica would have imagined, with honey curled and a rather strained smile, and beside her stood their three children. 

“Indeed, Susan, far too long,” he replied, gently shifting her over. “If I may introduced my dear Catherine, and our children: young Frederic, Theresa, and young Charles.”

“It’s an absolute pleasure!” Susan enthused, taking both of Catherine’s hands in her own. “I have so longed to meet you, and your lovely children.”

“And I you.” Ever so discreetly extricating her hands from Susan’s, Catherine turned away from her. “And this must be Frederica. We are so glad to have you spend your summer with us.” 

Frederica finished mounting the steps and found Catherine taking her hand in favor of her mother’s. “Very pleased to meet you,” she offered quietly. “Your home is truly beautiful.”

“It was built in the style of the Greek Parthanon,” Charles said proudly, “I could find you the proper citation if you’re interested.”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s quite alright, my dear,” Catherine insisted, placing a hand gently on his arm. As she glanced back, her face brightened. “Reginald! Do come and meet our house guests, Susan Vernon and her daughter, Frederica.”

And just like that, Frederica was certain this summer was going to be perfectly awful.

 


	2. A Message from Helios

When Reginald DeCourcy’s day had begun, he had no reason to suspect that it would be any different from any other day spent in Newport. 

Just before dawn he secreted himself out of the house for a morning ride down on the water, narrowly avoiding a few servants already preparing for the day. Although all other “Gentlemen’s Sports” had never been of interest to Reginald, he found great joy in riding. It was for this, and a few other reasons, that he preferred to spend summers at Parklands, rather than in the city. Those other reasons includes the noise, the poor air, and the fact that the generally accepted pre-gathering tradition was to be seen at the opera, which he couldn’t stand. Here, where the salty sea breeze tousled his hair as the sun peeked over the bay, he was not expected to sit through three hours of arias and tragedy before removing himself to a cramped ballroom of drunken men and women wearing far too much perfume. 

He dismounted upon reaching a fairly secluded spot and lashed the reins loosely to a broken fence. Here on the beach with the sound of the waves crashing, and the seagulls just beginning to awaken one could almost imagine all the world this way. Often he considered that once his father passed on the company to him, he would retire to the country entirely only going into New York for the most necessary of business matters. Perhaps he wouldn’t even keep a house there at all. 

Striding further down the beach, he stood where the wave just scarcely brushed his boots as they fell upon the sand. Here, as many days before, he watched Helios drive the sun chariot into the sky casting off the reign of Selene. Indeed, he had watched the sun rising countless times, but this day felt different. There was with it an overwhelming sense of anticipation, as if it were the beginning of an entirely new life, or perhaps the end of one. 

 

Returning to Parklands, the house had awakened completely into a flurry of activity, preparing not only for breakfast, but also for the soiree Mrs. DeCourcy had been planning for months. “To open the season,” she had said. “Such is our responsibility, my dear.”

This meant, of course, that the Bingleys, the Darcys, the Manwarings, Sir James Martin, the Johnsons, and the Vernons, his sister’s family, would descend upon their home accompanied by their own various guests.

After returning his horse to the stables, Reginald entered the house from the back terrace, removing his boots for fear of reproach for tracking sand onto the Persian carpets, and quickly mounted the grand staircase to the upper level. He changed quickly, donning a morning suit and returning his riding attire. Somehow, he had managed to dissuade his father from extending the Rococo and Roman motifs that permeated the house into his own private suite. While still decidedly European, the room’s air was lighter, less stifling than the rest. He did not anticipate the day of his father and mother’s passing, he merely anticipated the opportunity to redecorate.

The place still felt rather empty without Catherine, he mused as he returned to the ground level. Though she had married Charles Vernon near six years before he still felt the yawning space she left at Parklands. His mother and father felt it, too. At breakfast, he still saw his mother start on occasion, as if to turn and speak to her only to remember that she was not there. 

“Ah, Reginald, there you are,” old DeCourcy said from his place in the breakfast room. “We’d quite despaired of you.”

“I did not think I was as late as all that, Father.”

“No, indeed, but your mother and I have received the most intriguing news from your sister.”

Reginald sat, turning toward his mother expectantly, noting a letter beside her coffee cup in Catherine’s hand. “What does she say, Mother?”

With a trace of unease, Mrs. DeCourcy spoke, “Well, it seems we are to expect two more for the party tonight: Susan Vernon and her daughter.”

“Susan Vernon? Surely not.”

“It seems she wrote to Charles of her coming, referencing her anxiety to meet Catherine and to know her nephews and niece,” she replied, glancing down at the letter.

“It’s never concerned her before,” Reginald insisted, his brow furrowed.

“My thoughts exactly,” his father said, stabbing his eggs rather violently. “We cannot forget the vehemence with which she opposed Charles’ marrying Catherine; she might have ruined your sister’s happiness forever had she succeeded.”

“Indeed.” Reginald tapped two fingers against his coffee cup absently, wondering what else about this sudden appearance bothered him. “You said her daughter comes with her?”

“Yes.” Mrs. DeCourcy referenced the letter again. “Frederica. She has not been much in society if I recall, her mother focusing rather on her education. She’s not far in age from you, I think.”

“Curious that she should come now, of all times.”

“Indeed,” old DeCourcy murmured into his cup. “Curious.”

Breakfast proceeded in companionable silence, barring a few remarks about the fine weather, the price of steel, and the evening’s coming events. After, old DeCourcy retired to his office, and Reginald was about to follow toward the library when his mother caught him by the arm.

“I’d like you to go see Catherine today,” she told him in a hushed tone, a deceptively cool eye on the lookout for listening staff. “This Susan Vernon business has me on edge and I’m sure she’d be grateful to have you there.”

“Of course, Mother,” he told her, patting her hand gently, “I’d be glad to.” She smiled and nodded in return, stepping away toward the morning room.

Reginald pivoted where he stood, spotting his object near instantly. “Wilson, have Edward saddle my horse.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parklands is based on the Breakers in Newport and the DeCourcys are taking on the role of the Vanderbilts, railway tycoons of the Gilded Age. This chapter was meant to go up until where Frederica's chapter ended, but it just happened organically. Thank you so much to everyone who has read this far, I hope you haven't been disappointed!


End file.
